It is perhaps a testament to my withering work ethic that I have managed to stave off completing what is most probably the single most terrifying assignment of my university career so far until the week before it is due. I have a staggering 6,000 words to conjure from the dark depths of a woolly, exhausted brain saturated with facts, figures and alcohol, and yet I am still content to procrastinate furiously with the aid of Channel 4 On Demand, and BBC iPlayer. These are sad, frustrating times for Pandora.
Things have got so desperate that I have been forced to delay my return to London by two weeks so as to ensure that I actually complete this mammoth assignment, and prepare myself for the revision that lies ahead. Unfortunately, I was coerced – a strong word for what was essentially a pretty easy task – by my housemates into a night out of colossal proportions yesterday, and my head has not quite recovered. It is now three in the afternoon, and all I have managed to accomplish today is the production and consumption of a bacon and tomato sandwich. A worthwhile endeavour, as many of you might agree; it has not, however, helped me to produce anything of academic worth.
Watching my second episode of Skins today has made me feel quite ashamed of my relatively dull, uneventful life. Of course, I know that the programme is a ridiculously unrealistic portrayal of teenage life – a couple of lines of cocaine are an integral part of a routine shopping trip for these “savvy” youngsters – but I cannot help but think that, since I entered my second year in October last term, I have rapidly become more and more set in my boring ways. A friend of mine – definitely not Housemate #1, 2 or 3 – has recently begun dating a Fresher. Whilst we have become accustomed to lazy evenings watching Masterchef – the new series is amazing – this youthful specimen is spending his nights enjoying alcohol fuelled nights of decadence and fun, safe in the knowledge that his will be a formative year.
I was not so envious, however, when I learned about what these two young lovebirds experienced the other night. My luckless friend was torn from the comforts of her warm, cosy living room (as warm and cosy as a student house in the Viaduct can get), and thrown head-first into the debauched world of the Fresher when she was rudely awoken by one of his friends in college who, in a drunken stupor, thought that their bedroom was the bathroom, and proceeded to relieve himself all over her belongings. The woeful text message I received from her the next morning certainly made me feel grateful to have left the joys of college living firmly behind me. Perhaps it is not so terrible that I will soon settle down in front of the EastEnders omnibus with a nice cup of tea and a biscuit. Leave the hardcore partying to those hardy freshers; they will soon learn.